


The Fire Stone Necklace

by LadyLandshark



Series: Pokémon Noir [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Detective Noir, Film Noir, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLandshark/pseuds/LadyLandshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ada Carver is a private investigator trying to make a living in Saffron City, and she's got a new case. It may not be murder, but stolen property and a suspicious client are worlds more interesting than tracking down adulterers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire Stone Necklace

Saffron City. The throbbing black heart of the Kanto Region, greasy with industry and lousy with greed. Private investigator Ada Carver sighed and took another swig of her coffee. Sometimes she hated her parents for moving from bright, sparkling Celadon City before she was born, sentencing her to a life here in the Yellow City. But they had been more concerned with money at the time; for all its charm, Celadon could offer nothing compared to Saffron’s vast array of industrial jobs.

Damn, she was bored. Bored enough to get all misty-eyed about her past. She knocked back the rest of her drink, hoping the caffeine would be enough to keep her awake, and turned her eyes back to her desk. Still nothing new. Damn. Hell, she’d even go for another sleazebag trying to justify his own adultery by siccing her on his poor wife. Anything to make some money that wasn’t covered in bodily fluids.

Wait, were those footsteps? Yes, she thought as they got louder. No, she thought as they faded again. She sighed, wishing she could afford her own building. Or a new coat.

More footsteps. Again, they got closer. She was probably holding her breath like an idiot.

They slowed as they approached her door. She may have been reciting prayers to every legendary from Kanto to Kalos.

Then, a timid little knock like the pounding of fate.

“Come in,” she croaked. The door opened. In came a tiny little woman with patent leather shoes, orange hair, and a wool coat over a gingham dress. She was young and nervous and wringing her hands, like she was about to be scolded for something.

“H-hello Ms. Carver,” she squeaked, “My name is Penny Puckle.”

Too stupid to be an alias. Poor girl. She was probably from out of town, wearing gingham and acting that skittish. Saffron had a way of hardening people.

Careful to avoid making any sudden movements, Ada cleared her throat.

“Hello Ms. Puckle. Take a seat and tell me why you’re here,” she said, waving her hand towards the chair in front of her desk. The girl sat down as if Ada’s offer had been an order.

“I was wondering if you would help me get back something stolen,” said little Ms. Puckle with a little more courage. She reached into her coat and pulled out a manila folder, which she then placed on the desk.

“It is - was a necklace in my mother’s family,” she explained, “It went missing. We don’t know for how long, because it was in the safe and mother didn’t look in there for a while, except for about a week ago.”

“And that’s when you noticed it was missing?”

She nodded. Ada had opened the folder and was looking at the pictures. The necklace was one of those old ugly things you kept in the safe so you wouldn’t be tempted to fence it immediately. Gold, chunky, and filled with red stones. Its centerpiece was pretty interesting, though.

“A Fire Stone? Did anybody in your family have a Growlithe or a Vulpix they were desperate to evolve?”

She shook her head. Well, of course not. Nothing so simple.

“Worth a shot. Did your mother notice anything off about the safe when she went to look at it?”

Again, the girl shook her head.

“Who has access?”

“Only my mother, as far as I know.”

“Have you ever gotten it appraised?”

“Yes, before we put it in the vault. Thirty million PokéDollars.”

“When was this?”

“Just over a year ago.”

Ada narrowed her eyes. The girl’s sudden confidence didn’t mesh with how she’d been acting earlier. And while her dress and shoes were worn, her coat was new. It never hurt to be a little suspicious of her customers. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to dupe her into doing their dirty work.

“I see. Well, is there anything else you think I should know?”

“No, that’s all, unfortunately.”

“Then let’s discuss payment. We can start with a down payment -”

“Here,” said the girl, shoving a roll of money across the desk. “It’s all I can give you know. I know it’s not what you usually ask for, but please help. I can give you a lot more once you’ve found it -”

“Look, I’ll take your case. It’s not like I have much else going on at the moment. Go out front and see Ms. Murphy and she’ll write you up, okay?”

The girl nodded and shot up out of her seat.

“Oh thank you! Thank you!” she blabbered before darting out of the room.

Okay, then. Ms. Penny Puckle was probably hiding something, but it didn’t make her money any less good.

Ada sighed, though she was probably happier than she’d been in a while. She looked at her watch. It was late.

Time to go looking in the usual places.

 

* * *

 

The Kadabra’s Spoon was almost a classy establishment. Maybe a notch or three above a hole-in-the-wall and holding a valid liquor license, it attracted the exact sort of clientele that might be interested in the gaudy eyesore she was tracking down. It never hurt that the music there tended to be good and the barman owed her a few favors.

Tonight it was Lena Foster, a blonde with a smoky voice and a willowy figure crooning over a tinkling piano and some saxophone. The music heated the air and, with the generous help of the patrons’ smoking habits, formed a mysterious haze about the place.

Ada sat down and ordered a drink. Something girly, because alcohol was not her drug of choice.

“Looking for something, Ada? It’s the only reason you ever come around, after all,” said the barman as he made her drink.

“Oh, shove it, Dale. You know I’m only here for the music,” she grinned. He rolled his eyes and put her drink down in front of her. It was bright blue. Her favorite. She threw him a couple crumpled bills from inside her clutch.

“What kind of case are you on?” he asked.

“The kind that has me looking for a necklace.” She took a sip of her drink. “Know anyone whose taste runs on the red, gold, and ugly side?”

“Well, Buford’s probably in the market for something to please his new honey.”

Ada turned around, following Dale’s nod. Sitting across from the bar at one of the tables was Yates Buford himself, his numerous chins spilling out of a suit that was two decades out of style. Laughing next to him was a woman with cherry-red hair and a sequined copper dress that caught the sultry light of the club and cast it out around her, a shifting web of stars.

“That’s not Claudia Buford.”

“Mrs. Buford’s dead. Died just a couple weeks ago, I think.”

“He looks so torn up about it.”

The barman laughed. “Yeah, the police are investigating that one. Might wanna leave off.”

“Figures the police get the fun cases. Who’s the new honey?”

“Her name’s Louisa, I think. No one knows too much about her. Seems to be new in town.”

New in town? No one moves to the Yellow City unless they’re looking for money. And girls like that don’t go into hard industry. At least not that kind of hard industry. Whether or not it had to do with that damned necklace, there was a story here.

“Well, thanks Dale. It’s been a pleasure,” she said finally, getting up from the bar, blue drink in tow. He gave a bow, the smartass, and slipped off to chat with the other patrons.  

One of her biggest advantages over her male counterparts in the field was the ease of camouflage. While not a showstopper by any means, Ada was perfectly serviceable in the looks department. And a little black dress went a long way.

She stalked over to a young man who was standing in eavesdropping distance of the happy couple. He looked like he might be out celebrating a win at the local Gym. Easy prey. She sauntered over to the kid with an easy smile she tried to keep from looking too predatory.

As her new friend spluttered his way through a conversation, Ada kept an ear on Buford and his belle. They were chatting with another man that she didn’t recognize, indulging in the sort of skeezy, self-important small talk that rich people were so fond of. Ugh. But then -

“It seems you’ve moved on pretty quickly,” said Unidentified Rich Bastard with a disgusting amount of smarm.

“Well, I was inconsolable at first, you know?” said Buford turning to simper at the girl on his arm, “But then a week later I met Ms. Huxley here and, well, she helped me in my time of need.”

Ha, time of need. Odds were she’d been around long before the poor Mrs. Buford got it.

“You want to dance, miss -?” asked the boy. Ada turned her attention back to her unwitting accomplice. Well, the music was good - Foster and the band had picked up the tempo. And he had been a big help. She looked at her watch.

“Maybe for a song or two,” she said with a smile.

She took his hand, and they danced. The kid obviously had at least one appreciable skill, that was certain. She regretted not wearing a flashier dress as he whirled her around. Probably for the best, though. Being the bell of the ball tended to attract more attention than she wanted.

The song switched back to something slower, and so she left her new friend to get another drink and to get back to work. As she weaved her way through the now-swaying couples, she was stopped by a deep, smooth voice nearly in her ear.

“Good evening, miss,” it said.

She whirled around to face its owner, and had to look up. The man in front of her was wearing an impeccably tailored suit and a smug grin that screamed money, but the dark, intelligent glint in his eyes and the flash of teeth in his grin suggested that he hadn’t earned it legally.

“Uh, hello, mister -?” Smooth. You’ll give him heart palpitations.

“Just call me Giovanni,” he said, widening his grin, “And what should I call you?”

“Ada Carver,” she answered, not entirely sure if it was wise to give an obvious member of the mob her real name instead of an alias. Might as well go with the truth; it’d likely be much worse if he caught her in a lie.

“The P.I.?” he said, and she had the distinct impression that he already knew.

“Yes.”

“I heard you were looking for a necklace.”

Thanks, Dale.

“Where did you hear that?”

His grin widened to a full-blown smile, and Ada tried not to be a little bit terrified.

“The bar, earlier. Would you care to dance?”

She looked back down at his outstretched hand and took it. He placed his other hand gently on her waist and they began to sway along with the sweet strains of Foster’s latest ballad.

“Why do you care about the necklace?” she asked

“Let’s say that a friend of mine has taste that runs on the ‘big, red, and ugly’ side and I don’t want her to end up with any stolen property by accident.”

No, you’ll just buy her presents legitimately with money you extorted out of some poor sad bastard. She managed to suppress a snort at the obvious deflection.

“Well, I don’t suppose you’d let me know if you ran into anything like that?” she said.

“Maybe.” His dark eyes were nearly shining and she had the thought that he was utterly, brutally handsome.

“Look, I’m done playing games. If you have any information about the necklace, let me know. If you just wanna fish, buy a damn rod.”

His smile stayed in place, but his eyes were flashing dangerously.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Carver,” he said evenly and walked away.

She stormed back to the bar and ordered something a little bit stronger this time.  

“No dice?” asked Dale.

“No dice,” she confirmed.

“Well, Buford and Louisa are still here. Not sure they’re doing much talking, though,” he said, nodding towards the booths on the other side of the dance floor.

Sure enough, Buford and his chins were pressed up against the redhead in copper.

“Ugh, do you have a room you could put them in?”

“Not that we could pay anyone enough to clean up afterwards.”

“Now you’re just trying to get me to buy another drink to get rid of that mental image.”

He laughed.

“No, though I suppose I should thank your friend on the dance floor for making you buy the one you’re drinking now.”

She scowled.

“About that, Dale. He seemed to know a lot about our conversation earlier.”

“He was at the bar earlier. Didn’t notice that he was eavesdropping, and it looks like you didn’t either.”

He knew better than to suggest that she might be slipping.

“You know anything about him, then? Called himself ‘Giovanni.’”

“Nope. Either he’s new in town too or this ain’t his regular scene.”

Something told her it was the latter.

“Oh, well, thanks anyways, Dale.”

“No problem.”

She downed the last of her drink and left.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t much later that Ada made it back to her apartment. Taking up the second of two floors in an old brick building that had likely been old when the first PokéBall had been invented, “dump” was entirely too dignified a description.

“We’re home girl. Sorry to keep you cooped up for so long,” she said, letting her Vulpix out of its ball.

“Vulpix!” huffed the little fox, glaring up at her.

“I know, I know. I was on a case. Now let’s get you fed and watered, alright?”

The Vulpix gave another little huff and walked into the kitchen, sitting down on the grease-colored linoleum with her tails curled around her primly.

Ada rolled her eyes and grabbed the bag of Poké-Chow from one of her cabinets and poured into a salad bowl.

“Here’s this to start,” she said, putting the bowl down in front of the fox’s tails.

The Pokémon didn’t so much as blink. ‘How can you expect me to eat this without something to drink?’ said the expression on her pointy little fox face.

Ada had to wash one of the many bowls in her sink before she filled it with water and placed it next to the bowl of food. The Vulpix nodded at her in what she figured was a ‘Finally’ and, with a flourish of tails, began to eat.

Ada sighed and opened her dilapidated fridge. She really needed to get a new light bulb so she could see in here. And maybe some food to keep in here, too. She sighed.

She moved to the cupboards and found some crackers. That would do for now.

Taking out a phone book thick enough to stop most knives and some swords, she sat down on her couch and began copying names and addresses. She had some digging to do tomorrow.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate chapter title: Penny Puckle Picks A P.I.
> 
> Written with a little help from "Romance In the Dark" by Lil Green.


End file.
